


The Greatest Network

by thesadchicken



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Social Media, Modern, Modern AU, Multi, Social Media, Social Media AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: Philip Carlyle is filthy rich and very successful online. Unfortunately, he's also an alcoholic and spends most of his days sleeping and most of his nights drinking.But this all starts to change when he meets a man with a sunshine smile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Social Media AU/Modern AU inspired by [my own edit on tumblr](http://thesadchicken.tumblr.com/post/170811348268) (my own edit, yes - were I greek and a demi-god I'd be Narcissus)  
> I hope you enjoy this little story!

There’s a pink-haired girl sitting on the sidewalk munching on fries. Her high-waisted denim shorts have little stars on each pocket.

Philip Carlyle’s ice cream is melting onto his fingers. He distractedly brings his hand up and licks the dripping vanilla right off his fist. His tongue slips off his skin and onto the chocolate cone, and he bites into it, and it makes a loud noise. The pink-haired girl looks up.

Their eyes meet. Time stops. She smiles in slow-motion.

And then the pink-haired girl gets up, licks the oil and salt off her fingers and walks away. Philip Carlyle crosses the street, sits in his car and stares at his melting ice cream. The world around him seems to be moving too fast.

~

“Phineas Taylor Barnum, at your service,” the man grins, and it literally takes Philip’s breath away. How can a man’s smile be so full of sunlight?

“I think I got the number wrong. Is this 25 Jones Street?” Philip scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Phineas Taylor Barnum’s smile doesn’t fade. “No, but you’re only two houses away.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, and sorry for –”

“It was no inconvenience at all,” the man cuts him off, as if he’d already filled in the blanks of the conversation in his head, “I believe we’ve met before.”

Philip doubts he could ever forget a smile like that. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” he says. _I was probably really drunk_ , he doesn’t say. _I’m almost always really drunk_ , he thinks.

“Well, that’s alright,” Phineas Taylor Barnum shrugs. His jaw must be aching from all the smiling. “Have a nice day.”

“Um, thanks,” Philip replies uneasily, “you too.”

~

His cellphone rings. At 8 in the morning. On a Sunday.

“Yeah,” Philip groans into the phone.

“This is P.T. Barnum,” a joyful voice answers with a drawn-out sing-song.

“I’m – excuse me?” Philip winces, stretching on his king-size bed.

“Is this Philip Carlyle speaking?”

“Yes,” Philip sighs, pulling the immaculate white sheets up to his nose.

“We’ve met before. Twice, actually. I remembered where and when the minute you left! You were probably a bit tipsy at the time; I guess that’s why you forgot.”

 _Too many words. Too early in the morning_.

“Um, Mister Barnum, I’m sorry but I –”

“No need to explain yourself, it’s okay, really. Happens to everyone every once in a while. I actually called to ask if I could buy you a drink, say, tonight at nine?”

“How did you get my number?” is all Phillip manages to say.

“It’s on your blog,” P.T. Barnum replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And, well, to be fair, perhaps it is. Phillip’s blog is pretty darn popular.

He can’t remember posting his phone number though. There are quite a few things he can’t remember doing or saying, nowadays.

“Right,” Phillip nods to himself, massaging his temples with one hand, “Tonight at nine, you said?”

“Yes,” P.T. Barnum’s voice is exactly like his smile; full of sunshine. “Unless that’s too early for you?”

Phillip puffs up his cheeks. “No, nine is fine. But why do you want to –”

“Brilliant! I’ll see you tonight at _Ray’s_ then! Have a spectacular day!”

And he hangs up.


	2. Chapter 2

Phillip supposes the first time he met this P.T. fellow it must’ve been at _Ray’s_. How else would the man know about Phillip’s favorite bar in New York?

So he shows up at _Ray’s_ that same evening, and while he makes his way to his regular spot at the bar, he wonders why on Earth he accepted this strange man’s invitation. Probably curiosity, maybe that sunshine smile too, but mostly curiosity. And even though it makes no sense at all, Phillip feels a bit nervous. Like this is some sort of turning point in his life.

By the time P.T. Barnum gets there, Phillip has already downed two pints of beer.

“Sorry I’m late,” the older man says in a way that makes Phillip think he must be late very often.

P.T. pulls up a stool, sits, looks around him, takes off his jacket, folds it onto the back of the stool, then shakes his head and puts it back on. Phillip watches, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No problem,” he says.

“Okay, let’s cut to the chase. I want you to work with me.”

And that’s when it hits him: he knows exactly who P.T. Barnum is.

“The circus dude!” he gasps.

For the first time since they met, P.T. is the one with the questioning frown on his face. But Phillip is so relieved that he goes on, slapping his forehead, “You’re the guy from the circus! Everyone’s talking about you! You were trending on twitter last Saturday!”

The older man blinks away his confusion and smiles. “I was, yes.”

“Patricia Bosworth wants to write a book about you!”

“It’s being written as we speak.”

Phillip nods, impressed. “Amazing.”

“So you’ve seen my show?” P.T. asks, eagerness painting his sunshine features.

Phillip snorts. “Hell, no. I can’t be seen at the circus.”

At this, Barnum’s expression shifts. Something mischievous but irresistibly charming creeps into his honey-colored eyes. “Can’t you? Why’s that?”

And Phillip knows it’s a trap – he knows where this is going and he knows that he shouldn’t answer – but it all comes pouring out of him. “My parents would freak out, for one. Not to mention all their friends. I’d be kicked out of every wine club, private restaurant and exclusive spa in town. I wouldn’t be invited to any charity auctions or parties or soirées.”

“I see,” P.T. hums.

“Everybody who’s anybody goes to those parties, you know,” Phillip continues. He knows he’s saying too much, but he can’t stop. “If I stopped being part of all that…”

And then he finally stops. Because the only true ending to that sentence would be something like _‘I wouldn’t know what to be’_. The bar seems a bit too quiet, all of a sudden, and Phillip is very thirsty. He waves at the barman, and P.T. orders two more pints of beer.

“Listen,” P.T whispers, leaning on his elbows and peering at Phillip, “I want to work with you.”

It’s hard not to snort again. “Yeah, I’m sorry but no. Haven’t you heard a word I said?”

“You’re a blogger, correct? You do that for a living?” the older man goes on.

“Yes,” Phillips sighs.

“You run a – what do you youngsters call them? A ‘lifestyle’ blog? And you hate it.”

“Well that’s presumptuous.”

“You hate your job and you hate your life. How old are you? Twenty? You’re too young to be miserable.”

Phillip wants to protest, he really does, but then the barman places the beers in front of them and all he knows is that he’s gulping down his drink. He can feel P.T.’s eyes on him, taking in his desperation, his need to forget, to drown the boredom and the emptiness. And he knows that he can’t lie any longer.

So he reluctantly pulls the beer away from his lips and takes a deep breath. It’s time to put an end to this. He won’t work with Barnum, and that’s final.

“Mister Barnum, I hate to say this but…”

But he’s been drinking like this for two years now. But he’s changing apartments more than he’s changing clothes. But he’s constantly exhausted, even though he does nothing all day. _You’re too young to be miserable_.

And it’s as simple as that. The realization seems to come from a secluded part of his brain because he’s still readying himself to refuse when his mouth opens and he hears his own voice saying, “It’s intriguing, but running off and joining the circus is going to cost me. What percentage of the show would I be taking?”

P.T.’s smile is stellar. “Fair enough, you’d want a piece of all the action.”


End file.
